To Feel Again
by AnimeDawn
Summary: Fran has always hated his father, and would love nothing more than to hear the news that his mother had regained custody of him. But that doesn't seem likely, and even worse is the fact that his dad is going to send him off to a private academy so that he doesn't have to spend time with him until summer comes. He is just about at his wit's end when he bumps into a certain prince...
1. Don't Have A Choice

"Another C minus eh...?"

Dad was, once again, chewing thoughtfully on the end of his pencil, which he always kept tucked away behind his right ear. It was a habit that he had acquired from his many years of school teaching, mom told me once. He would bring home stacks of papers reaching up to the roof and he'd spend days just sitting at his desk grading them all. Sometimes I didn't see him for a whole week; Dad would come home, announce his arrival, and then promptly lock himself in his office and begin grading. This was the norm every day, especially when he had issued a test to his students. I understood that this was a lengthy process that took time, but there were moments when I would sit alone in my room and think to myself, _He's just using these papers as a way to avoid mom and me._ Now that mom had left, he didn't even try to pay attention to me on most days. I was simply the kid that lived in the house with him – more of a roommate than a son. But oddly enough, today dad had taken time out of his busy life to award me five minutes of his criticisms that I neither cared about nor wanted. He looked up at me from his seat, the pencil hanging loosely out of the corner of his mouth like an unlit cigarette, and frowned.

"Didn't I tell you last week to study hard for the English exam?" he asked around the pencil. I shrugged. No, of course he didn't. Rarely did dad advise me to prepare for anything; his mind was often on everything _but_ me. I knew better than to say this out loud, so I remained stoically silent. Dad took the silence as a no, and sighed loudly as he shook the offending paper in his hand. "Look Fran... You and I both know that you aren't stupid. You're actually one of the brightest kids I've seen in a long time, and rightly so – you are my son after all!"

Dad pulled his glasses off of his face, letting the arm dangle in his fingers as he rubbed tired eyes. I took this opportunity to roll my own eyes. _Since when do you notice anything about me, old man? _I thought irritably, _you probably don't even remember my age, or what grade I'm in. How can you sit there and talk to me like you still have the privilege of being my father? You're just some man I live with. You will never be dad, now or ever. _I badly wanted to say it, but I was walking a complicated enough tightrope as it was and I didn't want to give dad any reasons to make life more challenging.

"I just... don't understand all of these barely passing grades! Your teachers – all of them being good friends of mine – tell me in confidence that you are strictly C material," he informed me, pushing his glasses back onto his face and leaning forward, assuming the stance of a stern teacher giving a lecture to a misbehaving child. It was obvious he'd done it many times in the past. "You have it in you to do better, I've seen it. So... why, then? Why skim by on such laughable grades?"

My gaze travelled past dad then, landing on a framed photograph of the three of us – mom, dad and I – on vacation. It sat on the windowsill in the dining room across from where we were in the living room, and even from here I could see the dusty cobwebs that clung to the glass. Proof that such a memory was lost in the past, long ago. That and the fact that my dad was a lazy ass who preferred to live in a pigsty. To me it still felt like yesterday, standing there with our backs towards a huge expanse of blue salty ocean, smiles on all of our faces. Mom had wrapped her arms around my neck in a hug, while dad was leaning his weight on an old rotting fencepost that was standing out of place in the sand. He was separated from us by at least a foot, and he held a pencil tightly in his hand. I remember mom had had to plead with him to stop working long enough to take a picture. She even shed a few tears; that's how far she had to go to reach him. Dad had grudgingly agreed, saying that if he took this picture with us we would have to leave him to his marking for the rest of the day with no interruptions. Mom, although disappointed in him and his tepid answer, took what she could get and hurriedly pushed her digital camera into some random beachgoer's hands, urging him to take a picture before her husband could change his mind. It was wise of her to get that picture while she could, since we didn't go on vacation as a family again after that.

Shortly after coming back from the beach trip mom and dad had an extremely heated argument, which I don't really remember the details of. I was still quite young, only five years old, and anything I could have heard was blocked out by my pillow that I'd stuffed over my head. I think it was something to do with dad's work habits and his blissful ignorance of us, though. At any rate, during the first week of January mom was telling me to pack my things and say goodbye to dad since we wouldn't be seeing him for a while. I never thought twice about it – I assumed that we were going on some kind of special trip to Disneyland or something. It turned out that mom and I spent the better half of a year living in a dingy motel that smelled horrid, like wet mold. Of course, everything to a five-year-old is an adventure, so I enjoyed our stay there. I made friends with all of the people who came to spend the night at the place and everyone thought I was an 'enchanting little guy'. But when the truth finally dawned during the month of June, I realized that this was anything but the kind of adventure I wanted. Mom took me aside one day and told me that she and dad were getting what adults called a 'divorce'. She used nice words, so as not to scare or upset me too badly; but really, what can you say about a divorce that won't worry your child? Basically she told me with teary eyes that she wouldn't be seeing dad anymore, and he wouldn't be seeing her again either. I remember my eyes misting up just as easily as hers, but this wasn't even the worst of the news.

"Fran..." she said quietly, kneeling down and placing two trembling hands on each of my shoulders, "There are going to be court hearings soon. That means that your father and I..."

Her voice caught for a moment, and I watched in despair as she blinked back a new stream of tears.

"We are going to be debating who gets to have custody of you. Do you know what that word means?"

I shook my head slowly. Mom sighed; I don't think she'd wanted to have to explain that word to me out of worry that I would get distressed. She gently moved her hand into my hair, resting it there with a comforting ruffle.

"We're going to court to figure out which one of us gets to keep you, son," she whispered. I remember sobbing uncontrollably and mom desperately pulling me into her arms, soothing me with calming sounds and words. "I want you to understand something – no matter who wins, no matter whether you have to stay with your dad or with me – I want you to know that we are going to do our best to make sure you live a happy, carefree life. We both love you, all right? This... this whole thing, it isn't your fault. It isn't about you, do you hear me?"

I heard her, but I was bawling too hard to answer. My tears and wails of sadness caused her to cry too, and we stood there like that in the motel lobby for an hour like two dejected dogs devoid of a home.

The court hearings were long and boring, far too complex for a young child, so I don't remember it well. Yet I do remember that mom had been forced to get a job at a nearby Laundromat to support us. The money she made wasn't nearly enough to live on. Still, she made do with what she had; no one else was hiring then, and even if they were they didn't seem eager to hire her. Maybe it was because she hadn't graduated from high school, but either way the Laundromat turned out to be our only hope of survival during those long months. Every day mom's face looked a little more haggard, a little bleaker.

On our last day at the motel that I called home, mom took me aside again. Her face was crestfallen, and her eyes were puffy from long hours of crying by herself in the bathroom with the door locked. She thought I didn't know, and I chose to keep it that way.

"Fran... honey..." she began, her voice quavering badly, "The court is making their decision today. Once they choose who gets to take care of you, the decision is final. I thought I should tell you this, so that you have some time to prepare yourself for the days ahead... the jury and the judge are favoring your father right now. That means that they think he is the better choice."

"What!?" I fairly shouted, throwing my hands up in the air. "Why!? Dad doesn't even listen to you, and he doesn't listen to me! That's not fair!"

"I know, sweetie. You're right, it isn't. But... many things in life aren't fair..." mom choked out, brashly rubbing her eyes on her sleeve, smearing mascara into dark streaks across her face in the process. Her voice held a resigned quality that I'd never heard her use before. "Your father has a decent job that pays well, and he can afford to give you a good education and all of the toys you could ever want-"

"I don't want toys!" I wailed, tears springing forth almost instantly, "I want you mom!"

I threw my arms around her and bawled again. Mom sniffled and pulled me off of her, running her hands over my cheeks and staring at me like she was trying to memorize every facet of my little face. She was fighting back the urge to cry. I could see it in the way her bottom lip trembled.

"I want you too Fran, I've always wanted you. You're a darling little boy, a gem, and I can't stand the thought of never seeing your precious face every morning and night!" she said, her expression grim, her eyes jaded. "But this is out of our control now. My lawyer fought tooth and nail with every single trick he had in his briefcase, and it still wasn't enough to sway the judge." Her voice quickly turned bitter, savage in its ferocity. "It doesn't help things that the judge and your father were university buddies and teachers once in the same school... Justice means less than friendship, apparently."

I still had tears running down my cheeks although my cries had died down. Mom pulled a tissue out of her pocket with a soft sigh, dabbing my cheeks tenderly with it.

"The truth is... I can't afford to take care of you now. I don't have my high school diploma, and nobody wants to hire me. I'm lucky I managed to get that job at the Laundromat. Your father can provide for you, take care of you better than I ever could. Sometimes love isn't enough... do you understand Fran?"

She pocketed the used tissue and went down on her knees, running her hands slowly through my hair, smoothing it back until I had no bangs left on my forehead at all. I stared at her, committing every single detail to memory. I had some kind of inkling that I wouldn't be seeing her often, so I took the time to paint a picture of her in my mind. Long, sea foam green hair cascaded along her shoulders in a wavy stream that ended near her breasts, soft emerald eyes caressing me just as lovingly as any touch, and her once youthful face was lined with worry and aged by stress. I still see her face, sometimes, when I close my eyes or when I blink. In those far too brief moments, I remember what it's like to feel – I mean, really feel any kind of emotion other than anger or hate.

"Be strong, Fran," she told me, her gaze speaking volumes in mere moments. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

I'd been taking care of myself ever since that day. Dad didn't do anything to help me, so eventually I learned to help myself. I made my own lunches, cleaned the house myself... I even cooked supper for us every day. _Dad inherited his own personal maid_, I thought bitterly as I remembered all this. He hadn't lifted one finger to do anything himself since I came here ten years ago. Here I was, stuck with a lazy father who had lots of money to get me whatever I wanted – education, clothes, food, whatever – but all I wanted was to be with my hardworking mom, whom I had maybe five visits with during these ten years of hell. Dad wondered why I never smiled, why I was content to let my grades slip to the bare minimum required to pass, and he would never get the answers to those questions. But that's something to talk about later.

I reluctantly tore my eyes away from the photograph, away from mom's smiling face and shining eyes, and back to dad. He was staring at me intently, his eyes boring into mine with a cold intensity that unnerved me.

"Are you going to answer me, Fran, or ignore me some more?" he asked. His voice was thin with impatience. I almost said, '_Ignorance is bliss, old man'_. Thankfully I had enough strength of will to stop myself.

"It's easier to float by like that than to study," I replied honestly with a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder. It was true, but it wasn't the real reason behind my C average. I was doing poorly in school largely because I hated him, and in a way I was showing him this by spiting him, by looking the fool in the eyes of his colleagues. No teacher, no matter how understanding or accepting they might be, is happy when their child doesn't show signs of intelligence. That's what I figured, anyway; and, in this case with my dad, I had hit the nail right on the head. I watched with satisfaction as dad eased himself back into his leather armchair and rested his arms wearily on the armrests.

"Easier? Not studying may be easy, but so is failing," he retorted; but his voice was lacking its usual bite. He actually seemed tired for the first time in his life. Years of grading papers, marking tests and doing up report cards and I hadn't heard him utter a single complaint. Yet for some reason, as he sat there, he looked exhausted and older than ever. A couple of silver hairs gleamed in his dark black hair as he glanced out the living room window briefly. Then he turned his face up at me; and as I looked closer I saw aging wrinkles set in his skin so deep that it made him look fifteen years older than he was. I wondered with a sickening revulsion why I hadn't noticed them sooner.

"You know I don't care about what the other teachers think," – I shook my head. What a liar. – "but I know for a fact that your mother wouldn't approve of this."

"Send me to stay with her then, if you care about my wellbeing so much."

The words tumbled out before I had a chance to stop them this time. His expression hardened, but mine remained calm, impassive. I was starting to get good at that. Even more infuriating than a yelling match is an emotionless response, or even a lack of one – not that I enjoyed making people angry. My detached outer husk that I abused often was something that allowed me to keep my distance emotionally while still saying what I needed to say. I found it incredibly useful in the social world (especially since I had no choice but to talk to some people. *cough*dad*cough*) but most of the people I conversed with thought me to be an annoyingly depressing person. I couldn't blame them for thinking that. I probably did come across that way, like a moody teen that cared about nothing at all except brooding and my own angst. That, of course, wasn't what I was about at all, but I wasn't eager to correct people on their misconceptions. Mostly because I didn't care what other people thought of me, but also because high school life was definitely easier on you when you fit in with a certain clique.

Either way, I had managed to piss dad off with my apparent unconcern for what he had to say. I got the feeling that that was what bothered dad the most about my statement, that I had said it without any kind of hostility or resentment. Those kinds of things he could have dealt with in stride. But when I talked to him in a monotone, without any conviction or emotional output whatsoever, he was at a bit of a loss. He didn't know how to respond to that except with anger.

I could feel the tension growing between us as the silence thickened. It could blow up at any given time; any slight push, one way or the other for either of us, and we would be at each other's throats like jackals. I was actually waiting for that day to come. The moment dad decided to lay a hand on me, his custody would be revoked and I'd finally be sent to stay with mom. I guess that meant I was being an ass to him on purpose, but I didn't care about the consequences. I wanted to get back to mom by any means possible, even if it put me in harm's way. I'd been miserable here for what felt like an eternity, and the older me was getting real tired of dad's shit. I wasn't about to put up with this stranger for three, maybe four more years!

"You know I can't do that, Fran," he said. His voice was stone, sharpened to a point and jabbed into me repeatedly with no letup. Ten years hadn't changed that stubborn, uncaring man that my mom had unfortunately married. I kept my tone in check as I replied.

"You can so. You simply choose not to."

Dad leaned forward again, imposingly, his fingers digging into the leather of the armchair. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. This man was so much taller, bigger, and stronger than me. When and if it did come to blows, I certainly wasn't going to come out unscathed.

"You think so, eh? Listen up, son," he muttered, his eyes flashing dangerously in the light. "The one and only thing that convinced me to keep you under my roof is the fact that your mother pleaded and begged with me to let you stay. Otherwise adoption would have been my first thought."

"Why not just let mom have custody of me?" I asked. The burly man waved a hand dismissively at me like the idea was ludicrous.

"And admit defeat to her? No way, not on your life. Either I keep her darling brat here with me, or I send your ass to the orphanage. I have to say, Fran, the orphanage is beginning to tempt me," he replied with a smug smirk. I narrowed my eyes. Mom would never forgive dad if he gave me up to another family, not that he would care either way. I couldn't help entertaining that idea for a second though – I wouldn't have to deal with dad anymore, and that almost seemed like a good enough reason to go. But I could end up bouncing from home to home across the country, and who knew if I would be ending up in the hands of someone better or worse than him. Not to mention I'd probably never get to see mom again. I wasn't sure if I could live with that, even though I saw her less and less frequently as the years passed. I decided it would be better not to give dad any reason to send me off, so I asked tepidly, "What do you suggest I do about my grades, then?"

I had hoped that changing the subject back to our original topic would take dad's mind off of the whole adoption thing, and it seemed to work like a charm. He visibly relaxed, his posture becoming less aggressive as he leaned casually back into the chair. No doubt he thought he'd whipped me good. _Let him think that,_ I thought. _One day, hopefully before he decides to put me up for adoption, he'll snap... and when he does, mom will win after all. Nobody can stay constantly rational forever. _A contemplative expression drifted over his features as he eyed me callously.

"Hmm, what to do about your grades..." he mused aloud, his hand moving to his chin. I watched the pencil slide from one corner of his mouth to the other while he pondered. "I could tell you to study more, but you won't do it."

He stared accusingly at me, but I only shrugged. His stares didn't bother me in the least. Removing the pencil and tucking it neatly behind his ear again, he said in an easy voice, "I guess... the only thing to do would be to send you to a private academy. The kind of schooling a kid could get there is top-notch, and they have more than enough teachers to spend time one-on-one with all their students."

I could tell by the smile lingering in his eyes that dad had more than one reason to ship me away to some faraway prestigious academy. So much for thinking I'd gotten him to forget about getting rid of me. It probably sounded like a good deal to him. I'd be out of his hair for months at a time, and he'd never have to think twice about me until summer came around. All he'd have to do was pay my way through the courses, which wouldn't be too bad considering he had many friends, teachers and ex-teachers alike, in high places that respected him and would get him what he asked for. I would have heartily agreed to this idea also; except, from what I'd heard in idle gossip in the halls of my school, most students that went to private schools were snobs. Their parents were billionaires who didn't have time to spend with their kids on homework, and their kids could afford to throw away cash on whatever they wanted. I'd never fit in there! I knew that high school gossip was often untrue but that didn't mean I wanted to take a chance.

"Dad, do you really think your 'friends' can get me a spot in a private school?" I asked doubtfully, hoping that my logic would deter him. "All I get are Cs on my report card; from what I understand, you need to be either rich or a genius to gain entry to places like that."

Dad didn't let my observations dampen his spirit. He merely grinned at me.

"Do you really think we're that poor? I got money coming in from all over the place, boy. You have got nothing to concern yourself over."

He folded his hands behind his head with the confident air of a man who had money to spare. I knew dad made decent wages as a teacher, but just what did he mean by that? There was money coming in from where, and who? I was starting to think that my dad had fingers in all the proper pies, but I wasn't really interested in digging up whatever dark secrets he hid in his life. I was mostly concerned with staying far, _far_ away from him.

"Besides, I seriously doubt I'll need to pay a single cent. Those friends of mine have got me covered. How do you think I won that custody battle against your mother?"

My mouth tightened imperceptibly at the jab. The only reason he wanted me was to proclaim victory in a losing battle to my mom, and that really rubbed me the wrong way. He was such a... ugh, no amount of words could do him justice. My hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at my sides as he continued on disinterestedly.

"As it stands right now, I could get you into any school you wanted! You're pretty close to being done with school altogether anyway, aren't you?"

"Like you would know," I muttered venomously under my breath as dad held out his hand to examine a speck of dirt underneath one fingernail. If he had heard, he pretended not to.

"So it's decided then. I have a bunch of pamphlets here for you to flip through when you have the time," he said, gesturing with a wave over in the direction of his office without looking up from his nail. "Just let me know if you see anything that looks interesting."

* * *

I wasn't remotely interested in dad's offer, but I knew that if I didn't at least rustle up the booklets a bit he'd know I hadn't bothered to look at them. So the next day after school, I came home and made a beeline straight for his office. I knew he wasn't home, so I didn't waste time announcing my presence to the empty house. Dad was rarely ever home during the day. He did a lot of his work at school now since he didn't have an immediate obligation to see his wife or son. I doubt his schoolwork was what kept him out of the house all day long, but I preferred it like this anyway. It gave me time to think, assess my life, grab the cold cruel reality by the horns and try to think of ways to better it. Currently there weren't many.

I jiggled the handle on the door, and to my surprise it was already opened. I placed my palm on the smooth wood and pushed. It swung open, and I was greeted by a huge mess of papers that could only belong to my dad. Thick stacks of them lined the walls on each side, and some of them were tall enough to touch the roof. Somehow I had expected this. There were also three huge filing cabinets that were placed against the far wall. They, upon opening, were stuffed silly with papers also. I sifted through some of the various folders with my fingers and quickly discovered that none of these papers were placed in any specific order. It was like he had just opened the filing cabinet's drawer and dumped them in there, then shut the drawer again. _How can he get anything done properly in this place? _I thought. When I finally closed the drawer, shaking my head shamefully, another pile of papers that had been sitting on top of the filing cabinet collapsed with a flop onto the already paper-strewn floor. This was just sad. I found it hard to believe that anybody would enjoy being surrounded by so many piles of paper, but then again this was my dad we were talking about. He was the type of guy who brought his marking on vacation with his family when he really should be taking a break and exploring the ocean.

I glanced back at the door, half expecting it to be hidden behind thousands of columns of paper. It wasn't quite that bad, but it was only half open; the huge stacks of paper that were placed behind it prevented it from opening any wider. With a deep sigh, I waded through the heap of papers and found dad's desk, where he did all of his marking. In striking contrast to the disaster area which was his office, his desk was completely clear. Not a single paper rested on the dark cherry wood – I couldn't even see a pen. I took in the surrounding room again. This desk stuck out like a sore thumb in the clutter.

"What a weirdo..." I muttered. I opened up one of the desk's drawers and found a pile of pamphlets sitting there, as thick as a dictionary. I grabbed the mound of colorful paper and leafed casually through it. There were tons of schools here, some of them located halfway across the world. Boy, dad was willing to send me wherever, as long as I was out of his house. He had been incredibly thorough in his search for schools too, almost as if he'd been plotting to send me away for years. Knowing him, I was probably right. Blandly I read through the pamphlets, one by one, just in case I might find that I liked what I saw. Lots of the schools had high reputations as educational leaders, and it turned out that I found only a couple that I disliked out of the entire collection that my dad had amassed. But then I reminded myself... it wasn't the schools that I had a problem with – it was the students in the schools!

I put the pamphlets back into the drawer, carefully arranging them so that dad would know I'd at least touched them, and then slid it shut. My mind was reeling. What was I going to do now? I had to tell dad something, or else he was just going to pack me up and send me to whatever school he pleased. I collapsed heavily into his desk chair and sighed.

"Now what?" I asked the impenetrable silence.


	2. The Fateful Decision

When we both sat down at the table for dinner that night, I was exhausted. Dad had literally demanded a fancy meal, and every time he asked me for something fancy I always seemed to fall short in his eyes. So this time I had decided to cook the best thing I knew how to cook – scalloped potatoes in a homemade au gratin sauce, T-bone steaks seasoned with just enough Worcestershire sauce to taste and steamed baby carrots that I had cut up nice and small, drenched in melted butter with a pinch of dill weed. It had taken all of my mental strength to prevent myself from drooling into the food as I was cooking it. This had to be one of my all-time favorite things to make for dinner, but the price for eating well was enduring hours of preparation. And since dad's fancy dinner request was spur of the moment, my stomach was grumbling and the scenery outside was shadowed in darkness by the time I set his plate down. I took my plate to my spot at the table, directly across from dad at the far end, and sat down. I could feel my mouth salivating already as the aromas wafted up towards my nose. I grabbed my fork and knife, carving up a small piece of steak. Dad watched me all the while, a small smirk creasing his face. I knew he wanted to ask me about the pamphlets, and I was really dreading the conversation we'd have. I still had nothing incriminating to say about any of the schools, so I had nothing to back up my argument other than 'I don't want to go'. I had no idea what would come of this, and I was really getting uncomfortable with his penetrating stare. I was just raising my fork to my mouth, loaded up with the steak I'd cut, when dad spoke up.

"This is a fabulous dinner, Fran," he commented around his own mouthful of potatoes. "I can see you becoming a five star chef one day."

His eyes never left me, and I swallowed the meat which seemed to stick in my throat. Compliments were something that he rarely issued to me. This seemingly offhanded remark was enough to get me on edge. He was trying to butter me up so that I'd agree to pick a school, I was almost certain of it. I grabbed my glass of water and took a swig to help the meat along.

"Thanks," I replied curtly, shovelling another forkful into my hungry mouth.

"You know, I considered becoming a chef once," he continued with a swallow, looking up towards the roof with a wistful smile. "I didn't really have the knack though, not like you do. You get that from your mom."

I slammed the fork down beside the plate a bit harder than necessary. My face was blank, but on the inside I was seething with anger. _Trying to relate to me now, are you? _I thought with a sneer. _Being friendly with me isn't going to influence my decision, so why don't you just stop trying already!?_ Dad chuckled fondly, remembering his past I assumed, and took a sip from his own water glass.

"Yeah... those were the days, alright. I was so full of life, ready to take on the world. Now look at me... I have hardly anything to show for it. If only I'd gone to a private school when I was your age-"

"You're perfectly well-off old man, and you know it," I replied in my practiced monotone, looking him squarely in the eyes as I said it. "Now, why don't you cut the crap and get to the point?"

"I'm just saying that a good education builds the proper foundation for a healthy life, that's all," he said innocently, "Even I went to school for a while before I became a teacher. You want to lead a successful life, don't you Fran?"

"Can I just eat my food in peace, please?" I asked, waving my fork at him. Dad shrugged and nodded silently. He picked up his fork, and we ate the rest of our meals in tense silence. He glanced over at me every once in a while as we ate, smiling before returning to his food. I did my best to pay no attention to him, but every single knowing grin he threw my way soured my mood even worse than it already was. He knew that I wasn't keen on going to a private school. Somehow, without me even saying so, he knew. I hated being forced to give in to his whims, but I couldn't see any other way out of this mess. Whether I agreed to go or not didn't matter. He'd make me go either way, unless I figured some other arrangement out – fast. And no, the orphanage wasn't a viable option. I was stuck in between a rock and a hard place, as they say, and my window of escape was closing quicker than I liked.

When I'd finally finished my meal, dad placed his utensils beside the plate and leaned both of his elbows on the table, resting his chin on the backs of his hands. He was still wearing that stupid grin, and I had to take a few deep breaths within my psyche to stop myself from blowing up at him.

"Did you enjoy your meal, son?" he asked me pleasantly. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to vomit in his lap. However, as I have said a few times already, I had much better self control than that.

"Oh yeah, it was really good. I particularly enjoyed the part when you kept staring at me," I replied sarcastically. "Really dad, you just made me feel so loved. Now, what is it you wanted to discuss?"

Dad didn't seem upset by my response; in fact, he actually chuckled as he wiped his napkin across his mouth. I placed my hands firmly in my lap to try to kill the temptation of throwing my plate at his face.

"Well, since you brought it up..." he said in a meandering way that secretly infuriated me further, "How about those pamphlets? Did you find a school that really piqued your interest, hmm?"

I stared at him as I rose stiffly to grab my plate. I was halfway towards the kitchen when dad called me back.

"Hey now, Fran, don't go running off on me. Let's hear it! Don't hold back on my account!"

Reluctantly I obeyed. His face was beaming when I came back into the room, and my heart was sinking into the pit of my stomach to be digested along with supper. I sank back down into my chair, letting the plate clatter onto the table. I could have said plenty if I wasn't holding myself back; but I swallowed my anger, as usual, and made sure my emotional mask was firmly in place before answering.

"None of them were that great."

There was silence for a moment. Dad had expected me to say a lot more about the subject, but there was nothing else for me to say really. So I just sat there, staring dully at him. He stared back at me for a while, and then shook his head.

"That's it?" he asked at length, "None of them were that great? What was wrong with them?"

I shrugged, and hid my amusement when I saw dad's jaw clench at my indifference. I know I said I don't enjoy making people angry, especially dad, but once in a while I do get a kick out of it. What can I say; a guy like me doesn't get many opportunities to laugh.

"You have to pick one, Fran," he said, shoving his plate forcefully across the table towards me so that I could collect them both. "If you don't, I will."

I already knew that was coming, but I had to think of something – anything – to change my fate. I rose solemnly out of my chair and picked up the plates, swiftly yet discretely scanning the room for something to turn the tables in my favor. I had to think fast. My eyes eventually rested on a newspaper that was sitting open on the table. The first article that I saw read, "Home schooling rates rise by 50%." A little light bulb popped on in the recesses of my mind, and I smirked. _That's it! There's my answer,_ I thought gleefully. _Perfect!_

"That's okay, dad," I said as I walked past him with our plates, tossing what I hoped was a cheerful smile over my shoulder. "I've decided what I want to do."

"Really?" he asked my back. His tone was surprised.

"Yeah," I replied, pausing in the doorway of the kitchen for a moment, "I've done a bit of thinking, and I've decided to take the route of home schooling."

"_What!?_"

I figured he wouldn't be expecting that. I grinned and walked into the kitchen, loading up the dishwasher leisurely, giving dad some time to let my words sink in. When I stepped back into the dining room, his head was in his hands and he was pulling exasperatedly at his graying hair. Quietly I walked back to my spot and sat down, resting my arms on the table as I eased into the chair. I clasped my hands together as dad looked up at me, his expression much like that of a child who has just been told no for something he asked for. I made sure to keep my features neutral. His mouth hung open for a long while, and I wasn't sure if any words would be coming out any time soon; but gradually he spoke.

"Home schooling!?" he exclaimed in bewilderment, "Fran, I gave you pamphlets from award-winning schools all over the world, and here you tell me you want to be home schooled!"

"Yep," I confirmed with a curt nod. "Let's face facts here, dad. It's so much easier both on me and on your wallet if I learn from the comfort of my own home."

"Money isn't an issue!" he shouted indignantly.

"I know, I wasn't saying it was," I reassured him, holding up both my hands in reconciliation. "But we can still save lots of money regardless. I can do the studying while you're busy at work, and you won't have to worry about a single thing."

Dad ran a hand through his short hair impatiently. I could almost see him running through the options in his head at breakneck speed. Obviously he wasn't going to be the one helping me; even if he didn't say it out loud, we both knew that he hated me. We'd drive each other nuts if he was my teacher, and it was obvious that I couldn't be trusted to teach myself.

"But Fran... I can't... I mean..." he stammered. His face was taut, his dark eyes reflecting the inner turmoil he felt. "I'm so busy at work! I just can't... this won't work! You can't teach yourself, can you!?"

"It will work out just fine, and I'll tell you why," I said calmly, waving my hand in the air congenially. I felt like I was in the middle of a serious business deal, closing in for the kill. "The only thing that's missing is a teacher, right? All I need to do is ask around at my high school for a teacher that's willing to lend a hand, and we're set."

"I don't think-"

"Like I said dad, you don't have to worry about a thing," I said with a grin. "I'll find someone. Leave it to me!"

* * *

The prospect of home schooling had sounded really great when I had talked it up last night, but the next day I realized just what kind of hole I had dug for myself. I had assured dad that I wouldn't need his help, so I was strictly on my own in the hunt for a suitable teacher. No matter who I talked to at the high school, they all turned my offer down. They said they were busy with their own classes, and then referred me to another teacher who might consider it. This pattern went on all morning long, until I finally realized that none of the teachers I knew were willing to leave their secure jobs to earn a small wage from a kid's father to assist in the home schooling of his son. I was out of luck there. Then I had the bright idea of asking some tutors if they wanted to lend me some support; I got pretty much the same answer from them too. Nobody wanted anything to do with helping me with my home schooling, and I was starting to think that I'd actually end up going to private school after all.

Despondent and desperate as I could get, I trudged home at the end of the school day with those thoughts stuck in the front of my mind. I began working on some kind of escape plan. If there really was nobody else around that was interested, I would run away. Dad wouldn't know where to look for me; hell, he'd probably be pleased as punch that I was gone. I could make a new life for myself in a neighboring community. I was already a pretty independent guy; I was even confident that I could find myself some kind of decent paying part-time job. But then my thoughts turned to mom, and those plans ended there. Running away wouldn't bring me any closer to seeing her again, not to mention she'd be extremely worried about me if she found out that I'd run off somewhere... I hiked my backpack further onto my shoulders as I walked down the sidewalk. _No, there has to be somebody, anybody out there, willing to teach me!_ I thought determinedly, _I can't give up now!_

I turned the corner ahead a little too sharply, and I was in such a distracted state that I almost didn't notice when I nudged a tall, lean body to the ground. I'm not a very strong person, let me tell you right off the bat, but I'm short enough that tall people look past me like I'm not even there. This tall person that I had accidentally shoved to the ground likely hadn't even seen me, just like I hadn't seen him or her. I had knocked other tall folks to the ground before, just by being small and unnoticeable – kind of like a speed bump. That was undoubtedly what had happened now, and I never would have realized it if something shiny and round hadn't caught my eye just as I was about to take another step. A small, circular thing rolled in front of me like a wheel and demanded my attention. It turned in large circles, glittering brightly in the sunlight, and kept twisting in tighter and tighter circles until it fell over with a metallic clang. Kneeling down, I picked the slim circular band up and turned it over curiously in my hands. It looked like some kind of crown, made from silver that had been polished to perfection. The light caught it from every angle, making it shine like a star hidden deep within the folds of midnight. It was a beautifully worked crown, something that had taken ample skill to make; even I could see that, and I had no knowledge of precious jewelry or accessories. It could easily have been a thing worthy of royalty... or of a spoiled princess that had daddy wrapped around her little finger. I cringed as an immediate, pressing thought occurred to me: _Oh god... what if I just knocked down some millionaire's daughter? I hope they don't sue me for this..._

I whipped around quick as a shot, fully prepared to take responsibility for my carelessness and offer a heartfelt thousand-fold apology to the little girl I had so unwittingly victimized. My jaw, however, hung open in shock as I discovered that the 'little girl' I had assumed I'd bowled over was taller than me – way, way taller. And 'he' was pissed.

"You there, peasant!" he stated, pointing an accusatory finger as he rose to his full height over me. The guy loomed at least two or three feet over my head, and I had to look up just to see his face. His blonde hair hung down in a concealing curtain over his eyes, but I didn't need to see them to understand how angry he was; the ice in his tone created a frosty chill down my spine. I blinked a few times, rubbing my eyes with the back of my free hand. Surely I wasn't mistaken? There had to be a little girl, sobbing somewhere nearby. I peeked around his thin body on both sides, but it was just me and him standing here on the sidewalk. I looked back up at him in confusion.

"Are you the father?" I asked stupidly, refusing to believe that this crown, this delicate-looking tiara, belonged to him. _Only a little girl or an idiot would wear such a girly crown in public,_ I thought. His frown deepened, but his voice held a hint of the confusion that I was feeling.

"What? Am I the father of whom?"

"You're the father of the little girl, am I right? She's the owner of this crown." I held the silver tiara out in both hands. It shimmered like the aurora borealis in my palms. "This _is_ her crown, isn't it? It's quite stunning. You really pulled out all the stops for your daughter, sir. I'm sure she's grateful that you pay so much careful attention to her."

A vein twitched in his neck, and he snatched the crown out of my hands roughly.

"That's the prince's crown, you moronic peasant!" he snapped heatedly, lifting the small circlet and lowering it gently onto his wavy blonde hair. "How dare you insult the prince like this?"

I blinked once, and only once, and to my sheer astonishment I felt something sharp and thin pushing dangerously against my jugular. The tall blonde's frown had abruptly morphed into a creepy, wide smile that threatened to split his face in half. I hadn't thought smiles like that were possible until now.

"Are you, by any chance, related to the Cheshire cat?" I inquired. That comment earned me a condescending sneer.

"Shut up peasant, or I'll slice you into thin strips of meat."

"You wouldn't do that..."

The knife pressed closer against my skin, and I felt a small trickle of blood run down my throat. I swallowed, and wondered whether or not a fifteen-year-old was allowed to write a will. I didn't think I even had anything of worth to put in there.

"Try me," the blonde drawled, his grin stretching abnormally across his face again. Even the Cheshire cat had to admit defeat when this guy grinned. How many years of practice had it taken for him to smile like that? His facial muscles were probably as tough as steel! _Okay, time to redirect my thoughts to the real problem. Jesus Fran, focus!_ This guy was certainly a psychopath, and I had just insulted him, pissed him off so badly that he was shoving a knife at me... What to do about it?

"The prince demands you pay what you owe him – on time; which is right now. Shishi..."

"But what did I even - ?" I began desperately. The self-proclaimed prince, still holding me brazenly at knifepoint, showed me with his other hand the long tear in his jacket. Was that Gucci...?

"_Oh_. Oh, no..." I groaned. "How much was that jacket?"

"More than you'll ever make in your lifetime, pathetic peasant. Shishishi... But let's just say you owe the prince..." He tapped his chin with his finger, running the calculations over in his head with a thoughtful look. "Hmm... around $50,000; and that's just a rough estimate."

My eyes bulged at the huge sum I owed. That was impossible! I didn't even have a job, full or part time! How was I expected to pay this basket case $50,000 right on the spot!? The jacket couldn't be worth _that _much! He must have miscalculated; but I wasn't in any position to accuse him of being wrong.

"So pay up, peasant. Otherwise your life is forfeit," he said cheerily, as he caused another stream of blood to travel down my neck. I squirmed uncomfortably, both at the knife's close proximity and his hidden stare. It unnerved me when he stared at me with veiled eyes; I'd never know what he was thinking. He could be plotting to slash me to bits right now, and I'd have no warning whatsoever.

"I don't have any money," I explained dully, trying to successfully hide my anxiety. "I don't even have a job yet."

"Find one then!" came his curt reply, "Shi, peasants are so dumb."

This guy was starting to annoy me more than scare me. That was kind of a bad thing – I was in monumental danger, whether I acknowledged it or not – but I just couldn't help it. I hated guys who always acted so self-righteous all the time, especially when they were rich people. Guys like that considered themselves to be the smartest, most athletic, all around best examples of human beings in the entire world, while all the rest of us were as appealing as homeless people. This prince struck me as one of that crowd, a real spoiled brat who fancied himself above all others and did whatever he liked without consequence. It was merely a first impression, but I felt it was a pretty accurate one. I crossed my arms, careful to keep my face and tone neutral.

"I'd like to see you find one, fake prince!" I watched in satisfaction as his jaw clenched, and I continued before he could get a word out. "Now that I think about it, I read an ad in the local paper not too long ago. There's an opening for a drag queen down at the night club, and I think you'd fit the bill perfectly."

The knife, which had been starting to irritate my skin quite badly, slowly moved away from me. My hand instantly went to the gash on my throat as the blonde licked the thin sheen of blood off of his blade. His grin was still manic, but at least he seemed to have decided against killing me for now. Maybe he had realized that if he slaughtered me, he would never get his money.

"You are of a different sort, little peasant," the prince informed me caustically. I had no idea if that was intended to be a compliment or an insult, so I stayed quiet and massaged my bloody neck. "You aren't afraid of the prince's knives, and you even go so far as to insult the prince more than once! That should be reason enough to kill you, but..."

His expression grew thoughtful again as he tapped his right temple with the tip of that oddly curved knife.

"... killing you wouldn't benefit the prince either. It would seem we have reached an impasse, peasant. The prince hates making compromises."

"I'm sure we can figure something out," I said, hoping that I appeared more confident than I felt at the moment. The prince stared at me for a long time (at least, I thought so...) and for a second, so brief that it flashed in and out of my mind like a lightning bolt, I thought that his eyes might have been checking me out. But that was just ridiculous... only moments earlier he had been trying to slit my throat! I would never really know anyway since his eyes were shielded by the long, curling waves of his hair. Eventually he slid the knife back into a pocket inside his jacket, letting out a reluctant sigh as he shoved both hands into his jean pockets gloomily.

"Fine, fine... the prince will cooperate for now," he conceded, sticking his tongue out childishly at me. "But this doesn't mean we're friends."

* * *

Even though I had asked him multiple times if we could discuss the matter at his house, Prince Belphegor refused to allow me entry every single time.

"No damn way, Frog! If the prince did that, every peasant in town would want to visit the prince's mansion!" he'd rationalized with a grin, using the stupid nickname he'd given me during the first few minutes of our first real conversation. "The prince can't have that! There are too many peasants there already, and the prince only keeps them around to serve him!"

As much as I didn't want him at my house, that was where we eventually ended up. I stepped up to the door and sighed inwardly, hoping that we could finish things up before my dad got home. I didn't think he would be too enthusiastic to loan me $50,000.

"Here we are," I said as I stuck the house key in the doorknob. "Look, just... don't touch anything, okay?"

Bel (he insisted that I call him Bel-senpai) brushed past me with a snort, almost knocking me into dad's prickly rosebushes that he had planted on both sides of the steps.

"The prince does whatever he wants, Froggy."

"I told you, it's Fran, not Froggy..." I grumbled, closing the door behind me. I dropped my backpack down near the shoes and kicked mine off before noticing that Bel had tracked muddy footprints right down the hallway and into the living room. I followed them with a growing pit of despair in my stomach. There were carpets on the floor everywhere, and they were all white! I had tried to advise dad against it, but of course my opinion meant nothing to him. _It just had to rain on the day when Bel-senpai comes over... _I thought miserably. When I poked my head through the arched doorway into the living room, I groaned audibly. There were brown shoeprints all over the rug, and Bel had flopped himself down onto our leather couch. His long legs were crossed at the knee, dangling over the armrest and his shoes were still dripping with mud. He crossed his arms behind his head and regarded me with a grin.

"Oh hey, it's nice of you to finally join the prince. Boy, you're slow!"

"You moronic fake prince! You could have at least wiped your feet before trudging in here!" I muttered irritably with a face palm. Bel seemed to ignore my remark as he gestured to the place with a sweep of his arm.

"You have a nice place here, Froggy," he admitted somewhat courteously. I stepped further into the room, seething with anger, and he opened his feet, looking through them at me with a smirk. "It reminds the prince of the family cottage – homey, yet not overly expensive."

I was positive that his comment was meant to be a jab at my wealth, but I was too bothered by the mud to pay it any heed. I pointed towards the broom closet near the dining room and commanded in a demanding tone, "There's a mop and bucket in there. I'll wash out the hallway – thank God it's only hardwood – and you can use the rug cleaner in here!"

Bel simply laughed and waved a hand at me dismissively.

"Please, don't make the prince laugh! You couldn't tell the prince what to do if you were the president, Frog. Get the maid to do it, if it bugs you so much. Shishishi..."

I ground my teeth together angrily at his ignorance. I felt like ripping a strip off of him, but that wasn't likely to happen with those knives on his person. _We don't have a maid, you dumbass! _I shouted in my mind, _we may be somewhat rich, but we aren't rich enough to use dollar bills for toilet paper, like some people!_ It would be best to get this talk of ours over with so that I could send Bel on his way before he ruined any other facet of dad's house. My dad might act like he was Mr. Big Spender around the other snobs he tried to rub elbows with, but in reality he was Mr. Cheapskate. He wouldn't be willing to spend any of that cash on fixing whatever the prince wrecked; but that didn't necessarily mean he wouldn't be pissed about the damage. I sat down in dad's armchair, directly across from Bel, and sighed.

"Let's get straight to the point, Bel-senpai. I need to figure out a way to pay you back without begging my dad for the money. What else could I possibly do to repay you?" I asked unhappily. Bel, who had pulled himself into a sitting position now, smiled and cocked his head.

"Get a job and pay the prince back," he told me matter-of-factly. I laughed humorlessly and ran a hand through my hair.

"There has to be another way, senpai!" I complained, "The only jobs I can get pay very little; I'll be working for years before I make enough cash to fully pay you back!"

"Well then, it sucks to be you, eh, Frog?" he sniggered wickedly. "You'd better get on it. The clock's ticking, and the prince is only so patient!"

I glared at him and opened my mouth to call him a very derogatory expletive that I hadn't called many people, but the sound of the front door opening interrupted me. _No way! Dad can't be home yet... it's just not possible!_

"Fran, guess who's home early?"

Damn it all. I glanced, panicked, at my digital wristwatch. It read 3:05 pm. He was four hours early today! Usually he was never home any earlier than seven o'clock! Oh... he was probably here to see if I had found myself a home schooling teacher. That would account for such an early appearance. I winced inwardly as his steps echoed in the hall, coming closer and closer.

"Dad, you do realize it's three o'clock..." I said, hoping that maybe he had come home early by mistake, that he would suddenly remember a prior engagement and leave right away; but this didn't deter him, and dread filled my heart as his footsteps drew ever closer.

"I know, but I finished all my grading early for once. I worked harder than I've ever worked before! I thought I'd see you and find out how the teacher hunt is – wait. Is that mud?"

I hid my face despairingly in my hands. This was going to be the end of me! Either dad was going to kill me, or the manic prince sitting across from me was. Or maybe they'd both team up. I moaned, the sound muffled by my hands. When I pulled them away, Bel was watching my reaction with a mildly amused grin. I waved a hand towards the broom closet urgently.

"Go hide!" I mouthed to him, but the damnable fake prince only sniggered and shook his head. _That bastard! _Dad's pace quickened, and inwardly I cursed every single force in the universe for sticking me with such terrible misfortune.

"Haven't I told you so many times to take off your damn – " he growled as he stepped into the room. He stopped midsentence when he saw Bel's mud-crusted shoes spreading gunk all over the white rug. He glanced over at me swiftly and saw my mortified face. I had no idea what to say.

"Who's this?" he asked me bluntly, shoving a thumb in Bel's direction. My mind raced; Bel could be... uh... my tutor? No, he wouldn't believe I'd settle for anything less than a teacher. He's my therapist? Yeah, right. If anybody needed a therapist, it would be Bel. A psychopath who was holding me here against my will? That was mostly true, but would dad believe it? His eyes were boring into me with ferocious intensity as I contemplated my answer, and the prince was watching this all go down with a fairly bemused expression. I hoped he wouldn't get the urge to try to talk to my dad...

"Uh, he's my... um..." I stammered, floundering for any kind of word to describe this blonde that was threatening my life. Bel then stood, his face looking more normal than it had ever since I crashed into him. _He's going to try to clear up this whole situation with his twisted version of things, _I thought with a sudden wave of hysteria. _I absolutely can NOT let that happen!_ He opened his mouth to say something, but my voice rose deafeningly above his.

"This is Bel-senpai; he's going to facilitate my home schooling!" Both dad and the prince turned to look incredulously at me, more so Bel than dad. I kept going before either of them decided to bombard me with questions. "I ran into him as I was walking home from school today." This was the literal truth, and then I proceeded with my proposition. "He agreed to do what he could to help me learn as long as I agreed to become his personal slave."

I winced as soon as I said it, knowing that I had just committed myself to a lifetime of hell. But there was no other way I could satisfy both Bel and my father without doing this. Bel didn't seem entirely satisfied with my suggested option of 'payment', but dad found the whole thing as hilarious as a well-told joke. He was actually laughing out loud – not just a little chuckle, but deep belly rumbling guffaws – as he reached out and took Bel's hand warmly. Evidently he'd forgotten about the mud.

"I see, I see. I couldn't have come up with a better compromise myself!" he crowed, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes with his free hand. "You know, Bel, he might not honor his end of the bargain."

At that, the prince turned towards me with a devilish grin in place. I could feel the metal shackles clicking around my wrists and ankles already. I shrunk into the armchair, wishing that I had died at birth.

"Don't worry about that, sir," he said; his voice was even despite his ever present arrogant grin. "He knows better than to back out on a prince."

* * *

**_The third chapter may be a while in coming, but in the meantime why not give me some feedback on the story thus far? I appreciate all thoughts and comments, and hope that my first ever fanfic with chapters turns out awesomely! =3_**


End file.
